


Escalation

by xzombiexkittenx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Disability, Friends to Lovers, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal's love for Will is visible from space, I don't know anything about Thailand, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Relationship Discussions, Will is a sarcastic little shit, assuming of course that they're friends, heart to hearts over food, or Bangkok, or the Thai police, passive aggressive coffee making
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xzombiexkittenx/pseuds/xzombiexkittenx
Summary: "Our relationship is a blade with no handle," Will says. "No matter who wounds the other, we both get hurt."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louise_lux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise_lux/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to my Secret Santa, Louise Lux. I hope you enjoy your gift. As you can see I am chronically unable to write something short, so expect two more parts to this at some point in the not-so-distant future.

The early morning air is already humid and thick. Before meeting Hannibal Will had never been one for travelling. He'd had his fill of it as a child, and his work with the FBI made him associate flights with crime scenes. He never went anywhere nice. Now they're in a little house on the outskirts of Bangkok. The city is intense. It's crowded, vibrant and noisy, and the smog hangs in the moisture in the air. It's like nothing Will has ever experienced before. He hasn't decided if he likes it or not, but for now they are anonymous 

"Humans find it easier to tell members of their own race apart," Hannibal had said upon their arrival. "We stand out from the locals, but it is very unlikely that they would be able to identify us, even if they had seen our pictures on the news. We will be just another set of tourists to them."

Will had protested that, wondering if it wasn't a little bit racist, but since his preferred bartender only really seemed to recognize him because of the scar on his face, and Will had initially identified the bartender by his love of hideous, knockoff Hawaiian shirts, he had to admit it might be true. Here, he is just another foreign face. Not Will Graham. Not anybody. 

Will comes out of the house into their tiny garden to find Hannibal standing there in lightweight linen suit pants and a polo shirt, face tilted up towards the sun. The very handsome, derby-handled cane he has been using is hooked over his elbow and his weight is firmly planted on both feet. Their crash into the ocean had shattered his left leg in three places and the stress to his body - gunshot wound, hypothermia, broken leg, two near fatal infections, and constant travel - slowed his overall healing. Apparently all that is done with. He looks healthy and strong. There is colour in his face again.

"Should you be doing that?" Will asks.

Hannibal turns and walks towards him. He has a limp, but he will likely carry that to his grave since he set the bone himself and didn't manage as good a job as he might have if he'd been working on someone else. Will wonders if it tweaks his professional pride.

"I assure you, Will," Hannibal says, "I am quite recovered." He glances down at Will's hands. "Is that coffee?"

Will hands him one of the mugs he brought out with him. His own injuries healed some time ago, although his smile will never be the same and he can no longer lift his right arm higher than parallel to the ground.

"You're in pain," Will says. 

He is as familiar with Hannibal's pain as he is his own. If Hannibal had been his guide through Hell, Will is the one who has been pulling them along through Purgatory and the endless grind of their escape. Hannibal is a terrible patient; Will is a terrible nursemaid. Instead of talking about what, exactly, they are running towards, they have spent the past months snapping at each other over petty discomforts. When Hannibal pulled his stitches trying to get out of bed far sooner than he should have, Will retaliated by cuffing him to the bed. It meant he had to play nursemaid again, which made him miserable, but since he was also making Hannibal miserable he kept it up for three days. 

Their time of healing has left them with no sense of personal privacy or boundaries. He knows Hannibal's body as well as he knows his own - an undignified, fragile, human body. Will feels as though every stitch in his cheek and shoulder and every suture in Hannibal's side didn't just make them whole individually, it bound them together and now that the wounds have healed they are fused together.

"Mild discomfort," Hannibal admits. He doesn't seem troubled by it. His pain tolerance is insanely high due to his ability to dissociate on command. "I believe I will continue using the cane outside the house. I'm used to it now, and it helps."

Will thinks, rather uncharitably, that Hannibal also likes the cane as a disguise. Most people will remember a man with a handicap, but they won't remember his face. Trust Hannibal to turn a disadvantage to his own use.

"Thank you for the coffee," Hannibal says, taking a sip. Will can see his smile lines appear after that first taste. 

Hannibal prefers his coffee black, which is the way that Will has prepared it today. Some days, when he is angry at Hannibal, he will burn the coffee, or dump sugar in it. They have reached that level of pettiness. Hannibal never responds verbally, eternally polite, but he will find some small way to irritate Will in return. 

But now they are back on equal footing, so to speak, and Will can feel an anticipatory hum in the air. Now they will have to talk about things. They have made it to the mouth of Purgatory by the skin of their teeth and now it is time to pick a new destination.

"I could come to the market with you, if you want," Will says. "We could carry twice as much."

If he had offered when Hannibal genuinely needed the help, he would have been turned away. But now Hannibal continues to smile. "That would please me very much," he says.

He isn't kidding about being pleased. Hannibal has a veritable spring in his step and a song in his heart on their trip around the market. Will hasn't seen so much unadulterated happiness in years. Hannibal is so happy it's almost offensive. He drags Will from stall to stall, and he is unbearable to shop with. Every item has to be picked up and gently squeezed, or sniffed, or compared against a hundred other identical food items. 

Will carries the bags, because he offered, and because it makes him feel useful. He sniffs the fruit Hannibal puts in front of him, he prods at vegetables Hannibal offers. They buy a whole duck after what seems like an endless amount of consideration.

"You are humouring me," Hannibal says, about two hours into their excursion. His sunglasses are mirrored, Will can only see himself reflected back.

"Yeah," Will says. "When you went out alone I figured you were getting up to trouble. I guess I didn't have to be worried. You were just here, fondling vegetables." He sounds like he's flirting. He's not sure he isn't. 

Hannibal touches his arm just above the elbow, just for a moment. His hand is very warm. "I enjoy this," he says. "I like to take my time with it. And besides, it wouldn't be any fun getting into trouble without you." He gives Will a _look_ over the tops of his sunglasses. He is definitely flirting.

Will feels weirdly flattered by that, even though he shouldn't. He knows very well that Hannibal is capable of finding his own entertainment - bloody and complicated fun - without much effort at all. That he hasn't been, that he's been behaving himself for Will's sake, should feel more worrying than it does.

Will can't turn away, fixing his gaze instead on the patch of greying chest hair that's visible at the neck of Hannibal's polo shirt. "I know the concept might be strange to you, considering the size of your ego, but having you all to myself and having your undivided attention is not the gift you think it is." 

Hannibal's mouth curls up into a smile. "Two more stalls," he promises, letting Will off that conversational hook. Will sighs and trails after him.

x x x 

Hannibal makes them bami haeng pet with the duck while Will watches. Usually he would do the laundry, or his physiotherapy, or sweep and mop the floors, or some other useful domestic task, but the change in their dynamic has him stuck still. They've flirted before. Or, rather, Hannibal has flirted in earnest and Will has entrapped Hannibal by flirting back.

Did he mean it, all those years ago? 

His position between Jack and Hannibal never left him much room to think about what he wanted. Being two people made sure he had two sets of conflicting desires: He wanted Hannibal and he wanted Hannibal caught. Now here they are, together, and Jack is far behind them. He only has to decide what he wants to do with his semi-tame monster.

For now Hannibal's desire for Will is keeping him on his best behaviour but that is unlikely to last the season. His innate sense of shittiness will lead him to start up his manipulations again. He has an idealized vision of Will he is working towards and unless Will wants to be taken over by it, he needs to make his own decisions.

Will pours himself a stiff drink and hops onto the counter. Hannibal gives him a look that - more than anything else - lets Will know how besotted he is. For anyone else that would have been an egregious breach of etiquette, but Hannibal is fond, tolerant, charmed.

"Do you ever regret any of it?" Will asks.

Hannibal considers for a moment. "I don't think regrets are useful."

"Says the man trying to bring teacups back together with bullshit physics," Will mutters into his whiskey.

"There are moments in my life where I came to a crossroads and the path I chose took me places I did not want to be. But time continues to flow regardless of what we might desire. Would I go back to the day Jack Crawford asked me to consult and decline his offer? I would not. That meeting changed the trajectory of my life, true enough, but I might argue that what I was doing was not really living before I met you."

It's romantic twaddle. Hannibal was having plenty of fun long before they ever met. Will finishes his drink in three big swallows, the whiskey burning down his throat, and gets down off the counter to refill his glass. He can't bear to look at Hannibal. "How about framing me for murder? I guess you don't regret that. Or the encephalitis? Beverly Katz. Abigail." 

Hannibal sighs wistfully. "You were so beautiful as you burned," he says. Will wants to hit him. "So lovely in your despair. It was the flame that forged you." He catches Will's eye as he comes back to his perch. "I know I've been cruel to you, Will, but didn't you exact your revenge in return?"

Will can recall with perfect clarity the look on Hannibal's face before Hannibal had stabbed him, when he sent Hannibal away after the debacle at Mason's farm, and that same terrible sadness as he walked out of the BSHCI refusing to admit he had been pleased to see Hannibal. Paying Hannibal's cruelty back had been simple and satisfying, and on the other hand it had been complicated and agonizing. Hannibal had to try to hurt Will; he manipulated, and murdered, but all Will had to do was say no and he could devastate Hannibal.

It feels like he should have the upper hand. But he doesn't. He is like Saint Peter, denying Christ. There are only so many refusals in him. Eventually he will confess his loyalty.

"Our relationship is a blade with no handle," Will says. "No matter who wounds the other, we both get hurt."

Hannibal plates the food, Will carries the dishes because Hannibal overexerted himself on their trip and needs his cane to ease the pain. The set-up of their dining area is Western, but Hannibal has used his time to decorate in the traditional style. No displays of bone and antler, snails, or any other strange nonsense, thank all the gods. 

They sit across from each other, symbolically equals. But also, Will suspects, so Hannibal can look at him as much as he likes. For a man who is often extraordinary, Hannibal can be remarkably ordinary about some things, and he's about as subtle as a high-schooler with a crush.

"Our future together concerns you," Hannibal says. Will resists the urge to call him Doctor Obvious. "Your remarkable insight gives you the ability to reconstruct the past, but have you not ever turned your gaze forward in time?"

"It doesn't work that way," Will says, which isn't strictly true but best guess predictions aren't what Hannibal is talking about. "Uncertainty concerns me. Your nature concerns me." Hannibal lets the silence drag out until Will confesses, "My nature concerns me."

"We stand at a crossroads and all ways are open to us. We can go anywhere. We can do anything you want."

"But that's not true," Will says. "You have...expectations."

Hannibal smiles at him. "Will," he says, "I have learned not to have expectations when it comes to you."

"Desires then. In your ideal world."

Hannibal, shockingly, doesn't have an immediate answer to that. They eat quietly for a while. At last Hannibal says, "I want to be with you. As my complete self. And to have you be your complete self, whatever that may be."

Will can't help the eye roll that reply engenders. "Oh please, you probably have entire years mapped out in your mind palace. Don't pretend all that time in the BSHCI was spent reminiscing on the past."

Hannibal finishes chewing and has a sip of wine. "I imagined many things but I never could have conceived of what actually happened when we reunited. You are mercurial, Will, it makes you hard to predict. I had hoped for such a..."

"Moment?" Will supplies blandly.

He can't keep a straight face though, and they grin at each other like schoolboys. Some moment. Will can't keep up the eye contact and he ducks his head, feeling a blush heating his ears. Yeah, he's flirting. Turns out he's still bad at it. It's harder to do when he means it a hundred percent and isn't trying to put on an act to entrap Hannibal. 

"Our fall was unexpected. Your decision to save my life afterwards was unexpected. Three times you could have let me die," Hannibal says. "You could have left me in the ocean. You could have let the fever and infection claim me. Your freedom was assured and you wouldn't have had to take any action at all, simply let nature run its course." Hannibal tilts his head to the side and then smiles a little. "You used to think of killing me. Do you still think of it often?"

"Every day," Will says. Another statement that is not strictly true. He did think about killing Hannibal on a regular basis while they were healing, but that was less of an active desire to murder him, and more of the same frustrated _I could throttle this irritating man_ thoughts that anyone would have, with no intent behind them. "But that's not why I did it. Not all of it, anyway."

Hannibal has the nerve to look interested. "What stays your hand now? And what made you act to save me then?"

"I want to live," Will says, although it makes him feel selfish and guilty. "And like I said, the blade always cuts both ways."

"A conjoined creature cannot survive when one part dies," Hannibal agrees.

x x x

Their routine, if it can be called that, settles into trips to the market, excursions into the city, and making the house their own through gardening (Hannibal) and renovations (Will). It leaves them both with too much time to fill, and as Will's daddy used to tell him, the devil makes work for idle hands. He already has a keen understanding of what Hannibal gets up to when he's bored but they don't talk any more about their future together. Will thinks they're both waiting for the other to make a move. Or, rather, an overt move.

Somehow, while Hannibal has been investigating the town, their neighbours, and the surrounding businesses, he has managed to find every single asshole in a ten mile radius. During their excursions he somehow contrives to cross paths with every single one of them. Will is faced with people who torment animals, spousal abusers, child abusers, people who cheat those less fortunate than themselves, pimps, gang bangers... 

Will's almost impressed. Because of course it's a slippery slope he lives on now. Once you've killed someone because they're bad, you've established a baseline. The question becomes: who else is bad enough to qualify.

"I swear if you orchestrate it for someone to attack me so I have to kill in self-defense, I will break your other leg," Will says to Hannibal outside of Wat Arun. It's not the best disincentive he can think of. Hell, he's not sure any threat of bodily harm would deter Hannibal. Probably only the threat of his leaving would make an impact, but he won't threaten something he can't do.

Hannibal has obtained a camera and he snaps a picture of Will in front of the temple. Will is scowling at him, and he bets the angle is all off, but it makes them look like tourists. Hannibal is smiling without smiling, just a faint impression around the eyes. "Do you want to climb the steps of the _prang_?" Hannibal asks, as though it wouldn't be painful for him to attempt. "Apparently the view is remarkable. You have a clear vantage of the Chao Phraya river, the Grand Palace, and Wat Pho."

"Hannibal," Will says. 

"You are thinking about murder," Hannibal says and loops his arm through Will's. They continue along the riverside next to the temple, walking slowly to accommodate his altered gait.

"I live with you," Will says, surly, "I'm usually thinking about murder. Look, I get it, terrible people exist. You're not a vigilante."

Hannibal shrugs, unconcerned, and pauses to examine a sculpture. "I am endeavoring to make a compromise. Isn't that how relationships are built? I know you have no interest in my usual prey, so I am seeking middle ground."

"You expect me to become a vigilante?" Will says. "Really."

"It's an option."

Will heaves a massive sigh. "Do you know what your worst quality is?"

Hannibal raises his eyebrows. "I know you are not fond of my...fussiness, as you call it."

"Your legitimately obsessive need to right-angle everything?" Will says. "No. In any given situation you look at your options and always, without exception, pick the one that makes you the biggest dick possible. Sometimes you manufacture entirely new options, exceeding even my dreams of how shitty you can be."

There's a long silence as they make their way to the next sculpture along the walk.

Will wonders if that's the end of the conversation but then Hannibal says, "I imagine you have a long list of complaints about my behaviour. Would it be beneficial to air them?"

There are a hundred thousand things that Will hates about Hannibal and they all distill down to one basic idea: Hannibal is a bad person who does bad things and Will enjoys hurting him. He is also Will's best friend, and very likely the love of his life. Hurting him hurts Will; an endless cycle of self-injury.

"You snore," is what comes out of Will's mouth.

Hannibal looks surprised, genuinely shocked. "I do not," he says. He seems surprised, too, by his denial. It's pleasing to see him on the back foot.

"You do," Will says with childish delight.

Hannibal's eyes narrow. "You are petty."

"Anal-retentive."

"Indecisive."

"That's rich, coming from a man who does everything on a whim. And you're a snob. And you take thirty years trying to decide on one goddamn vegetable every time you go to a stall at the fucking market."

Hannibal has the audacity to smile at him. "And yet you come with me very time. Come, I want to see the murals in the ordination hall before we go home."

x x x

Because Will's life can never be simple, Hannibal doesn't even have to keep putting bad people into his path. Will can't read Thai but he's a smart man with a lot of years in law enforcement. There's fear on the streets, he can read it in the body language of the people he passes. The newspapers are also beyond his ability to understand, but again, he knows his own field. There is a serial killer on the streets of Bangkok, preying on the local populace.

He drops the paper in front of Hannibal, one morning. "Can you read this?"

Hannibal sips at his perfectly made coffee. "Not quickly, but yes." He pulls the paper closer so he can look at it. "Would you like to know what it says?"

Will sits next to him. "Please," he says, because Hannibal is a sucker for anything Will wants when he asks nicely.

"You already suspect the contents," Hannibal says. "There is a serial killer. Would you like all the details the paper provides? There aren't many."

"Is there a victim pool?"

Hannibal runs his finger along the paper, ink smudging his skin. "Information is scarce, likely to prevent copycats. Women are the primary target. One man is dead but it seems as though he was killed because he was in the way."

"The killer is impulsive," Will says.

"They are urging citizens to exercise caution, travel in pairs, stay in after dark..."

Will pours himself a cup of coffee. It doesn't escape his notice that Hannibal had already got him a cup out of the cupboard, waiting for him. 

He is no longer beholden to Jack Crawford. There is no reason for him to involve himself. All he has to do is live, to be here with Hannibal and hopefully prevent Hannibal from murdering random people with impunity. All he has to do is have a life.

That hasn't traditionally worked out for Will.

Hannibal pushes a plate of fresh croissants towards Will. "We can do nothing," he offers, like he's reading Will's mind. "We can leave this monster to the police. To the Central Investigation Bureau. This is not your job anymore."

Will stuffs part of a croissant into his mouth to avoid answering.

"I could track him," Hannibal says. "But so could you. We can do nothing, or we can stop this. But you know what that means." 

"Becoming. You would enjoy it."

"I would."

"So would I," Will says. "I like it better than the parade of assholes you've set in front of me. We could stop someone worth stopping."

Hannibal considers it. "Not a pig, but a dragon."

"Exactly." Will can't bear to look at Hannibal. "Destroying gods...isn't that worth more to you?"

"This murderer is no god," Hannibal says. "But I would kill anyone you like. If his death would please you then we will hunt him together."

He would. It's nothing to Hannibal if they go after a serial killer or a nun. Hannibal couldn't care less, but he knows Will does, and he's willing to compromise. Will sneaks a glance at him. Hannibal is looking at him with the same devotion and love on his face that he's had for years now. He is Will's monster, Will's god to command and control. For now, at least, Hannibal not only allows it, he wants it.

"I never thought I'd say this, but Tattle Crime would be really useful right now," Will says.

"Somewhere Freddie Lounds began weeping with joy and she doesn't know why," Hannibal says dryly.

Will has a terrible idea. The sort of awful, impulsive notion he imagines Hannibal has on a regular basis. "What if..." he says. "What if we faked credentials and got ourselves invited to the next crime scene? You could manage that sort of forgery, right?"

Hannibal pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth. He sets it back down. "They would check. Eventually word would get back to Jack Crawford and he would come for us."

"Eventually," Will says. He doesn't have a lot of faith in inter-departmental cooperation, never mind cooperation across continents and languages.

"We would have to investigate, find the killer, and leave here in a very short space of time." 

"Doesn't that make it more exciting?" Will says.

There's a sort of awe on Hannibal's face. "Do you know, Will, I suspect I might be a bad influence on you."

Will laughs so hard his eyes tear up. "'You worry too much.' Isn't that what you said?"

"Taunting law enforcement is escalating behaviour."

"You would know," Will says, not unkindly. "We don't have to, it was just an idea."

Hannibal touches Will's forehead with the back of one hand and Will leans away.

"This isn't a flare-up of the encephalitis," he says. "You don't have the market on bad ideas."

Hannibal catches hold of him, one hand on the side of Will's head. His skin smells of coffee and butter. They have been this close before, Hannibal leading, Will following, and Will realizes that this is exactly as far as Hannibal will go without more encouragement. He will not push on this matter, because he's afraid to lose what he has.

Will closes the final distance between them, leaning across the space between their chairs, and kisses Hannibal. It's a lot like falling off the cliff again, clutching at Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal stands up, reeling him in so they're pressed together. Hannibal pushes him up against the counter, biting tenderly at Will's mouth. Will can feel Hannibal's pulse thundering in his chest, pressed up against his own.

"My darling," Hannibal says. "I will do anything you ask me to."

**Author's Note:**

>  _bami haeng pet_ is egg noodles served dry, with slices of braised duck, along with blood tofu (clotted blood) because why the fuck wouldn't Hannibal make tofu out of blood.


End file.
